


It's the Thought That Counts

by Pistol



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:06:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22041628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pistol/pseuds/Pistol
Summary: Birthdays don't always happen stateside.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15





	It's the Thought That Counts

"It's a cake!" 

Roque takes one look at the half burnt, half gooey sludge sitting in what appears to be a makeshift stove consisting of a fire pit and their Jeep’s hubcap. He shakes his head, sighing heavily. "No, bro. That really isn't."

“Well, it’s _kinda_ cake. It’s sure as shit the only cake you’re gonna find for about a hundred miles in any direction.” Pooch nudges Roque with a hopeful look, “It’s your birthday, man. We gotta have cake.”

“_That_ is not cake,” Roque insists.

"It kinda is," Jensen pipes up from his perch on the Jeep. "It's a pancake. That like a second cousin to cake. It even has cake in its name. Not that that’s the best way to determine yummy sugary goodness, ‘cause yellow cake uranium is definitely not a member of the edible cake family. But it was named fo-"

“Jensen!” Pooch hisses, “Not helping.”

Roque sighs, backing away from the fire pit. “That,” he says pointing, “is not a cake.”

“Don’t be cake racist, Roque.”

“Jensen, it’s orange. _Bright_ orange, and it smells like ass.”

“It’s orange because I didn’t have eggs. Or oil. Or milk. So I kinda...” Pooch waves his arms towards a pile of MRE wrappers, “improvised.”

“It smells kinda like motor oil,” Clay murmurs with a frown, using his knife to poke at it.

Pooch huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s the best I could do with what we had, _sir_.”

“You didn’t use motor oil did you? I mean, you know that it’s not like cooking oil?” Clay starts poking through the wrappers warily. 

“Do I look like an idiot?” 

Clay looks uncertain, still eyeing the wrappers at his feet. “Maybe we should pass on the ... cake.” 

“Ignore him, Pooch. Cougar and I will happily have a slice of your very thoughtful and festive cake!”

“_Thank you_, Jensen. At least someone here appreciates the Pooch’s hard work.” Pooch takes the knife from Clay with a glare before squatting down and sawing his way through the burnt parts. He pauses, wincing as he starts to scoop up the unburned sections.

“On second thought,” Pooch says eyeing his concoction, which for a moment it almost appears to be eyeing him back, “let’s wait till we get stateside for the cake.”

Jensen ignores Pooch, sliding off the Jeep and reaching towards the piece on Pooch’s plate, “Come on, it can’t be all that-”

“You’re not eating that,” Cougar grabs Jensen by the back of his uniform, effectively preventing him from reaching the cake. 

“But... cake!”

Cougar shakes his head. “We will do presents instead.”

“Present time?” Jensen perks up, despite still attempting to reach for his piece. 

“Whatever. I just hope they’re better than the cake,” Roque says with a shrug.

Pooch eyes the cake, which gurgles up at him, “I’d object to that, but I’m starting to think you’re right. And I’m pretty sure my cake is becoming sentient.”

“Don’t hate on the cake!” Jensen’s voice drops to a mock whisper. “If it _is_ becoming sentient, we’ll want first contact to go smoothly.”

Cougar rolls his eyes and after a moment to make sure Jensen isn’t going to try and make a second attempt for the cake, Cougar reaches in his pocket and tosses a foil packet to Roque.

Roque examines it with a flat expression. “A melted chocolate bar. You shouldn’t have.”

Cougar shrugs. “We’ve been here for two months. No time to shop.”

“I made you a hat!” Jensen says proudly as he pulls a brown party hat out of his pack. “It’s all homemade! The hat is made from the enchilada MREs, they’re your favorite, and the poof ball on top is made from glue and some hair I found in Cougar’s hairbrush.”

Roque’s eye twitches and next to him Clay starts making choking sounds. 

“My cake’s not looking so bad, now, is it?” Pooch says with a smirk.

Roque ignores him, eyeing the hat but making no effort to take it from Jensen. “I hate you all,” he says finally, “and I don’t want your shitty presents.”

“I was going to offer to do your paperwork for you,” Clay says with a shrug, “But if you’re not accepting gifts...”

Roque snorts. “Clay. I’ve been doing your paperwork for the last five years. I’m pretty sure you don’t know how to do it at this point.”

“It’s the thought that counts, Roque. Besides, you already made it clear you don’t want my gift.” Clay moves closer, throwing an arm over Roque’s shoulder. “Besides, we’ve already given you the greatest gift of all.”

“Our company!” Jensen says with a knowing nod. “Best gift there is.”

Clay chuckles squeezes Roque’s shoulder, “You know you love us.”

Roque ignores him, carefully peeling the foil off of his mostly melted candy bar and popping a piece into his mouth before passing the rest to Clay. 

It’s definitely not the worst birthday he’s ever had, and while there’s no _edible_ cake, at least there’s people he doesn’t hate and chocolate.

**Author's Note:**

> Was previously posted, then taken down. Now it's back up. Beware the errors and typos, I suspect the files I found on my old hard drive are the pre-beta versions.  
Please don't steal any of my silly stories and change some names around and then try to sell them as books on Amazon or I'm gonna have to take everything down again.


End file.
